


Resewn Seams

by ComicBooksBro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Chuck Really Fucked With Dean's Mind, Dean Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Depressed Dean Winchester, Gen, Heavy Angst, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, he has all these feelings™ and just never learned how to deal, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro
Summary: Dean Winchester is starting to think he's not a real person.***Or, Chuck screwed with Dean's mind just a little too much, and now Dean wants to die.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, pre Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Resewn Seams

**Author's Note:**

> Okay let me start by saying I SWEAR that resewn is a word, no matter what the internet says.
> 
> Now, caution, touchy subjects ahead. I'll put warnings at the bottom just in case.
> 
> <3

Dean Winchester is starting to think he’s not a real person.

He can’t able focus on anything anymore. He needs to force himself to sleep for longer then two hours at a time, but he needs at least five to be functional. Nightmares don’t scare him anymore, but they still keep him awake. Eating is a chore, and everything in his life has fallen so far to the wayside that there’s nothing in the center anymore.

He’s purposeless. Hopeless. A shell of the person Chuck had written him as, and that’s all he ever really was: Chuck’s puppet, given the barest hint of a personality.

All he was——and all he ever will be——is a doll. One of Chuck’s favorite toys. And just like any sadistic child’s favorite toy, Dean has been ripped up and stitched back together more times than he can count.

Only now, there’s no one to stitch Dean up, and his seams are wearing thin. Maybe it’s for the best. If he’s lucky, he’ll get drained by a vamp on a hunt one day and just never wake up.

He’s just so tired.

So ready for it to all be over.

Chuck might be defeated, but Dean feels more dead than he ever has. He shivers in 80 degree weather, and forgets to eat for days at a time. He’s forgotten to eat before, that’s nothing new, but even when he remembers, Dean can’t force anything down. In the two months since they have defeated Chuck, he’s dropped 35 pounds. Dean knows it’s not healthy, and that he should probably tell someone, but he _can’t._

He can’t ruin things for everyone just because he is having a bad day.

Sam is finally making an attempt at settling down with Eileen, and Cas is still adjusting to the whole _human_ thing again. Dean can’t dump this on them. He’ll deal with it on his own——he has before.

Besides, it’s not like Sam and Cas have the time to deal with a fucking _doll,_ especially after he’s hurt them so many times. Now that they’re free to do whatever they want, Dean couldn’t hold it against Sam if he decided to shoot Dean in the face and call it done. He deserves it.

The bunker’s ancient heater buzzes to life, jerking Dean out of his maze of self-hatred, and directing his focus back to the onions he’s cutting up.

He’s chopping onions to make dinner for him and Cas (well, for him to push around on his plate and for Cas to eat). Recently, Dean has learned that Cas gets cold really easily, and that soup is the way to a cold ex-angel’s heart.

Absently, Dean wonders what would happen if he took the knife to his arm. How much would he bleed?

Would he die?

Does it matter?

No one would care.

No one would miss him.

All he’s ever been is a burden. A liability. A puppet designed to cause as many problems as possible.

And now that Chuck is taken care of, Dean’s purpose has been served. He’s no longer needed. He never really was to begin with.

Dean looks down at himself and realizes he’s bleeding.

Blood streams from two long cuts up his arms and drips onto the floor, joining an already sizable puddle on the floor. So, he’s still human in there after all.

_Shit. There’s blood everywhere. That’s gonna take forever to clean._

That’s the last thing Dean thinks before he passes out.

***

Dean wakes up in bed and briefly wonders if the whole thing was a dream.

There’s a spider web in the corner of the room. He should clean that up, but he doesn’t move. He can’t even bring himself to try.

A quick glance at the clock reveals that it’s eleven at night, and Dean curses himself internally. It’s way past dinnertime by now, and he never finished cooking. He sighs. The onions probably have blood all over them, anyway. Still, Cas knows how to make a sandwich, so he should be fine. Cas doesn’t need him at all.

Dean keeps his eyes on the ceiling and tries not to focus on the light pressure from the bandages wrapped around his forearms. He’s still alive, and it doesn’t feel good.

How long he lays there, Dean doesn’t know. All he can seem to do is stare at the ceiling and spiral more and more deeply into his own mind. Was it an hour? Two?

Regardless, it’s better than falling asleep and facing his nightmares. ~~_I_~~ _ ~~t's always the same ones too: Cas with his eyes gouged out, and Sam with a shotgun-hole in his head. They just stand there, expressions slack, asking why.~~_

_~~Dean is never able to answer.~~ _

Someone knocks on the frame of Dean’s door and he turns his head to see Cas. He looks worried——hilarious. It’s stupid to be worried about a doll, particularly one as broken and worthless as Dean.

He watches Cas and waits for anger to emerge. It doesn’t.

_Why?_

“Dean. I was getting worried; you were out for a long time.”

Dean doesn’t know why he says what he does, but it’s the first thing to pop into his head that isn’t _why am I not fucking dead yet?_

“I got blood all over the onions,” he mumbles.

_Stupid doll._

Cas walks over and sits at the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean turns his head back at the ceiling, unable to meet Cas' eyes.

_You can’t even die properly._

“What happened?” Cas asks, his voice loaded with emotion.

“I don’t know,” Dean replies dully, and it’s not a lie.

He feels so empty, so hollow inside. Hollow and fragile, like porcelain. 

“You tried to kill yourself.”

Dean nods, because he did, and he doesn’t regret it. He just wishes that Cas hadn’t been home tonight. Why does he care, anyway? It’s not like Dean does anything but hurt people.

“Yeah.” His arms itch under the bandages. Cas did a good job stitching him up.

_Stitching._

Right. Because all Dean can be is a doll. A fucked-up toy, created to be thrown around by whatever Chuck had seen fit.

But now that Chuck is gone, what’s the point? He doesn’t belong here, and he never will.

“I think you have depression,” Cas says quietly. Not it’s-a-secret quietly, but like he’s trying not to break Dean with the words. Little does Cas know, Dean is already completely shattered.

_Depression?_

“Shit,” Dean whispers, his eyes still on the ceiling. They’re suddenly burning with tears that he quickly blinks away.

Cas is right.

Dean chokes on a sob. He’s so weak.

They’re free, he should have every reason to be happy, but he’s not. He can’t even fake it.

Everything is perfect, but Dean is somehow fucked-up enough to have depression.

“Shit.” Tears continue to cloud his eyes as a cool shock of realization sticks in his chest. “I’m not okay.” He pushes his sore, weak, tired body into a sitting position against the headboard and feels himself deflate against it.

“You will be.” Cas looks at Dean, his blue eyes boring into Dean’s all-but-destroyed soul.

Dean nods again, because that’s all he can seem to do. Tears continue to roll down his cheeks, but he makes no attempt to stop them, and Chuck isn’t here to force him to, so they just keep coming. Dean can’t remember the last time he cried this hard.

Cas sits next to Dean, rests a hand on his bandages hand, and lets him cry.

It’s a while before Dean speaks again, and when he does, he can barely force the words out of his salt-scratchy throat. “What’s wrong with me?”

He hurts so much, all over, and it’s only now he’s realizing these are old hurts——things that have been with him for years that he hasn’t been allowed to feel. Things Chuck hadn’t let him feel. It’s like a wall has come down, and Dean can finally see inside of himself. But the only things inside of him are darkness and well-cultivated self-loathing.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Cas says in the same calm voice he had used earlier. “You’re allowed to break down, Dean.”

Dean looks over at Cas, the use of his name keeping him grounded. “I don’t know if I can,” Dean whispers. He’s always tried so hard to keep his feelings under wraps, and he’s mostly succeeded, but any walls he had built up have been utterly destroyed. This isn’t even close to the rock bottom Dean can feel himself rapidly hurtling towards. If he hits, he’s going to break into pieces and take everyone with him.

He needs to stop before he hurts someone.

Sometimes Dean thinks that Chuck crossed some wires when it came to his emotions, because Dean can hit low after low after low and drink himself into a stupor and scream to the heavens about his feelings, but he’s never felt better afterwards. People say that crying helps, but all it’s ever done to Dean is make him feel worse. He’s never gotten the release that is supposed to come with it, only exhaustion, stale anger, and salt on his cheeks.

He thinks he gets it now, though. At least more than he had before.

Cas waits until Dean is done with the worst of it before he talks again. “You can get through this.”

“I...” Dean’s throat closes around the words. _‘I know. I'll try, just please don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’d do if you left.’_ “I don’t——I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay,” Cas says, though his expression tells Dean that this isn’t the end. _I’m going to help you,_ it says, and Dean is more than ready to accept it. Just not tonight. “You didn’t bleed on the onions,” Cas adds. “I was able to finish up the soup on my own, if you want some.”

Dean can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him then. His stomach growls at the mention of food, and he realizes that he’s actually _hungry._ It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“Yeah,” he admits, “food sounds good.”

Dean might not be okay now, but he will be.

All in due time.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for Suicidal thoughts and a suicide attempt by Dean. He survives, though.
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
